


at peace, in love

by aliaaaaaa



Series: webgottrash tumblr prompts [52]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Heart-to-Heart, M/M, Post-War, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 08:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6975052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliaaaaaa/pseuds/aliaaaaaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He supposed he was being cooped up in this house for too long and there was nothing new and exciting to see in New York City anymore.</p><p>He supposed it’s time for him to travel a bit.</p><p>He supposed he could visit San Francisco.</p><p>He supposed he could meet Joe Liebgott.</p>
            </blockquote>





	at peace, in love

**Author's Note:**

> an anon wanted a road trip story but this turned out to be sort of angsty post-war with road trip thrown in the mix.

It took David Webster exactly 4 months to break down.

It happened during a garden party hosted by his professor on a sunny spring day; the bartender popped the champagne and the sound resonated too loud that he was instantly transported back to the mountainside of Austria, where the hill was an endless beauty of green and the sound of Liebgott’s gun shattering the peace of the mountain, making his heart jumped while he was thinking “ _Shit, shit, shit, shit_.” because this was downright murder and Liebgott’s hand was smeared with the German officer’s blood even though it was Skinny who shot him dead in the end.

He had to excuse himself from his classmates, silently making his way inside – trying not to let the nausea overwhelmed him– and he locked himself in the lavatory, dry heaving into the sink, his throat felt raw as he choked on angry tears, leaving him gasping in exhaustion.

Afterwards, his friend found him curled into a fetal position, his face pressed against the cool tiles; mumbling incoherent words that sounded like German but Web knew he was uttering Lieb’s name.

*

Attempting to assimilate himself into the post-war society turned out to be a horrible process.

When he got back to the States, as soon as he stepped out from the ship, he knew that everything about him had changed.

He was no longer the same David Webster who had signed up to be a paratrooper just because he wanted to live the experience of being a grunt.

That wide-eyed boy was long gone, died somewhere in Carentan; and what came back to the Webster’s estate was a man who was fraying at the edge, barely holding himself together as his mother had hugged him tight and sobbed “ _My son_.” into his chest.

He thought it would help him forget when he pushed all the ugly things he had seen in the war at the back of his mind; locking the memories and burying them just like what had done to his journal that was now residing beneath the soil of his mother’s rose bushes.

But now, he couldn’t even get up to go for his classes; spending his days instead wasted in his room, wearing his bathrobe and chain-smoking by the window.

His mother was worried, his father was furious. But they left him alone. Sending his sister and brother instead to coax him out from his room.

He ignored their pleas, left the food cold and untouched outside of his door; laying on his bed and thinking about nothing, thinking about everything.

Thinking about the war.

Thinking about the friends that didn’t make it.

Thinking about Liebgott.

He sneaked out out from his room when he was sure that everyone was sleeping; padding through the quiet hallways, avoiding the creaky floorboard, out to his mother’s garden through the kitchen door.

He kneeled down by the rose bushes, using a small trowel to dig the damp soil; he worked in silence determination, with just the moon as his companion, dirtying his bathrobe and pajamas.

When the tip of the trowel jammed into something, he put it aside and used his hands to fish out the shoebox and bounded back upstairs, leaving dirts and muds all over the expensive wood floor.

When he was safely back inside his room, he placed the muddy shoebox on his window ledge; looking at it like it held the most terrible secret.

And maybe it did because he was so hell-bent to bury everything in order to forget only for his brain to pull one memory out among others for him to remember again.

He perched on the windowsill, lighted up a cigarette and pulled out the journal from the box. It was leather and thick, the pages yellowed around the edge. His sister had gave it to him as an away present before he joined the paratrooper, telling him to record everything he had seen and done when he was off fighting the bad guy.

(He did write about his experience of being a grunt, of having to clean Lieutenant Peacock’s quarters and of having to train in the cold Aldbourne weather, of having to jump out from an airplane and survived, of his fingers shaking wildly when he pulled the trigger of his rifle to kill the German for the first time.

But in between those pages, he also wrote about Joe; of how he looked in the morning when Sobel whipped their asses to run Currahee at the crack of dawn, of how his eyes changed from soft brown to dark brown depending on the light, of how his soft hair felt in between his fingers, of how his red lips tasted like against his own, of how his voice sounded like when he thrust too hard.)

Flipping through the pages, he could smell the earthy scent wafting up and he was reminded of Joe again; Joe who smelled like rain and fire; a force of nature on his own.

He stopped flipping when he came across two photos lodged neatly in between two empty pages.

They were photos of him and Joe.

One photo of them just outside the pub in Aldbourne in their neat uniform and their jump wings gleaming proudly, as proud as the young faces in the photo; Joe’s arm around his shoulder, looking at the camera while he looked at Joe.

The other photo was of them lounging by the lake before they went back to the States; looking giddy and triumphant because they had survived the bloody war; sitting close next to one other, Joe’s arm once again slung casually around his shoulder, but in this, Joe was looking at him, smirking slightly, a small tug of his lips that made him look somewhat mean.

But he was smiling fondly at Joe in this photo.

He wondered if whoever took the pictures realized the weird sparks between him and Liebgott.

He wondered if anyone noticed at all.

He flipped the second photo and read the chicken scrawl at the back of it.

_Harvard,_  
You’re welcome to visit anytime.  
Here’s my address –

_– Joe._

He supposed he was being cooped up in this house for too long and there was nothing new and exciting to see in New York City anymore.

He supposed it’s time for him to travel a bit.

He supposed he could visit San Francisco.

He supposed he could meet Joe Liebgott.

*

When Joe Liebgott woke up that morning, the sun shone weakly in between the darkening clouds; the weather promised of heavy rain.

He woke up feeling like something was about to happen – a dread sort of feeling starting low in his belly – but he had still gone out to drive his cab; saying goodbye to his Ma, putting his mind on auto mode as he cruised down the mildly busy streets, expertly navigating his way to whichever destination his passengers had told him to go.

It felt like he never left Frisco to go to war because the city looked exactly the same as how he had left it.

When he came back, he was expecting the city to bow down her weight and sobbed her triumphant cry because he had returned victorious from the war; but the city had stood still instead; stoic and unchanging.

Life went on as usual as if the war never happened and truthfully he was mildly disappointed not because he had expected to be treated like a war hero, _no_.

But he was expecting these people, these civilians to understand the price the soldiers, his comrades, his brothers had to pay in order for them to be at peace, to be able to walk out freely from their home without being afraid of getting air raid or getting shelled or getting shot at when they grumbled about the little nuisance in their still perfectly intact life.

The rain fell hard when he was musing about the unfairness of it all; he drove in silence, turning left to his Ma’s house instead of going straight to the city to pick up more passengers.

He suddenly felt exhausted even though it was only 1 in the afternoon and it was still early for him to finish his shift, but the heavy feeling was still present in his belly and it grew more insistent as he got closer and closer to home.

He parked the cab under the big willow tree, running to the house and getting his hair and jacket wet.

He entered the house and hollered for his Ma, and made his way to the kitchen only to stop at the doorway.

There sitting at his family’s kitchen table, David Webster was calmly sipping a cup of hot coffee with his Ma pattering around, chattering something while cooking.

“Welcome home, Joe,” Web said placing the cup back on its saucer as he smiled and the dread feeling in his belly caught and released simultaneously when he looked into Web’s blue eyes.

*

“You can sleep in here.”

Joe said as he pushed open the door to reveal a neat bedroom; the curtains were of soft pink, so was the bed cover.

“It was my sister before she got married,” Joe explained when Web looked around the small, tidy room; placing his duffel bag on the bed.

Web opened the window and stuck his head out to look at the surrounding area. The rain kept falling down lightly, bringing in cold wind that brushed against his face.

In front of Joe’s house was a wide green field, probably for kids to play baseball. To the left and to the right were rows of houses with the same design. The only thing that differentiate between the houses were the colors; and Joe’s house was painted in soft blue.

“Nice place you got here,” Web said as he turned around to face Joe who was still standing by the door; his arms folded across his chest.

“Yeah, well. It’s Ma’s house. She keeps it spotless.”

Joe stepped inside, wary with Web being in his house.

(When he had found his voice after the shock had faded, he asked, “What the fuck are you doing here, Webster?” much to his Ma’s annoyance, because _language_ also, “Joey! That’s not how you talk to our guest!”

She had knocked the back of his head after depositing a clean towel on his damp hair.

“It’s okay, Edith! He didn’t know I was coming here.” Web had said, trying to suppress a smile when he saw Joe brushing his head gingerly and narrowing his brown eyes at him.

Lunch was subdued, only his Ma talked, asking Web about what he had been up to after he came back, asking about New York, asking about his parents; and Web dutily answered everything in his polite tone that his Ma had turned to him to beam and said, “Isn’t David a charming man? You should learn a thing or two from him, Joey.”

He leveled glared at Web when he heard the other man snorted.)

“Your Ma is nice. She keeps feeding me even when I told her that I’m full.” Web smiled when Joe snorted.

“Probably because you’re skinny. What they don’t feed you enough back in New York?” Joe asked, leaning against the big drawer and looking at Web up and down; noting the chiseled face had turned into something sharper, his cheeks more hollowed, his eyes more tired, probably from the long journey from New York to Frisco.

But still, Webster looked listless. Gone were the bright blue eyed kid that talked too much, and in his presence now was someone that Joe didn’t recognize.

“You’re one to talk. Your Ma is a great cook yet you’re still more bone than meat,” Web countered back, leaning against the wall.

“Hey! I am always skinny no matter how much I eat, okay,” Joe scoffed and narrowed his eyes, ready to argue with Web.

But instead of talking back, Web stepped closer to Joe, moving easily and the feeling in Joe’s belly returned with vengeance only this time it wasn’t dreadful, it was something close to pleasant lurch.

Web stopped in front of him, looking down and smiling because of the slight height difference and Joe wanted nothing more but to deck Web’s smirk off of his face.

Instead, Joe barked out an annoyed “What?”

“You don’t look happy with me being here.”

“I’m _not_ not happy. It’s just… most people call first or write letter to inform that they’re coming.”

“Well you did write your address and told me that I can come by anytime.”

He did, didn’t he? When they were by the lake, with him feeling like their time almost ran out. When Luz gave him the photo with a teasing grin, he had scribbled down his address and gave it to Web with hope that –

– What was he hoping? For Webster not to forget about him? For Webster to always remain in contact with him? Hell, knowing Webster, he would probably send Joe a hundred letters even when Joe didn’t reply. But Webster hadn’t and he did wait for letters to arrive, for Webster to talk about his life after the war, for Webster to share the same disgruntled feeling he was experiencing.

But Web didn’t, and instead, he came here to Frisco, standing in front of Joe so closely that he could smell Web’s faint expensive aftershave. And that was better wasn’t it? For Web to be here instead because now Joe had someone who understood him better than anyone else in this town, except, Web looked so lifeless and depressed, that his blue eyes didn’t shine bright at all.

He pushed the ball of his palm against his eye and sighed heavily, already feeling a small headache ticking at the back of his head.

“I know. And you’re welcome to stay here, Web.” He lifted up his face to see Web smiling at him, and he was presented with the echo of the old David Webster, the bright returning to his eyes briefly before Web turned around and rolled into the bed with a loud groan of satisfaction.

He left Web to nap, turning again to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming; that Web was really in his house, on his sister’s bed, snoring softly, out like a light.

*

His routine started around 6 in the morning, when he woke up and bounded down to the kitchen to help Joe’s Ma making coffee, watching her expertly flipping omelette while she chattered away in rapid German.

Joe would come down around half past 6, wearing his gray jacket and always looking like he was ready to fight the world, but usually the deep frown was gone when he placed the steaming cup of coffee in front of Joe.

It was strangely comforting to sit at the kitchen table with Joe so near him that he could reach out his hand to tap his arm or poke his chest or graze his fingers.

(Joe would look at him with question in his eyes whenever he did that, but he would just smile back because how would he explain to Joe that he was thinking of letting himself disappear in between the crack so that no one could come and fish him out again to face life when he didn’t feel like living at all? That being here in Joe’s childhood home had made him feel a lot better than being in his own house because with Joe, anywhere felt like home to him.)

By the third day of his stay, he was already acquainted with the neighbors because Edith had dragged him to accompany her everywhere since Joe had to work.

From the grocer to the fish market to someone’s Bar Mitzvah.

(It was nice really because he got to spend more time outside of the house rather than being cooped in. Perhaps Edith saw that, saw the haunted look in his eyes when he was alone with only his thought as the companion.

She had tapped him on his arm to get his attention on the second day he was here; and walked out the door, expecting him to follow her.

Edith had introduced him as _David, Joey’s friend from the army, yea, my boys the war heroes_. She had said this with such pride that his heart swelled because even his parents rarely talked about him in such manner.)

When he wasn’t busy following Edith, he walked around the neat neighborhood; stopping at the park to sit underneath the big oak tree to write letters to his mother. Telling her that he was doing okay, telling her not to worry because he needed this, needed to get out of the Webster’s Estate because no one understood him; that he would only come back home after he had found what he was searching for.

He also wrote in his old leather journal.

Pouring out his thoughts about what he had seen in Frisco so far, about Edith’s warm reception towards him even though he was particularly a stranger for her.

About Joe.

Joe who still looked at him like he couldn’t believe that Web was in his home, sitting next to him during dinner as they wolfed down Edith’s spaghetti.

Joe who would check up on him when he slept fitfully, muffling his sobs and scream because he was reliving the gruesome memories in his nightmares.

(“You’re okay. You’re safe, Web. You’re with me.”

Joe petted his hair gently, as he came back to the living; eyes wide and wet with tears and he was waiting for the wave of shame to flood his system, to paralyze him; just like what he had felt when his father woke him up every time he had his nightmare.

But all he felt was a sense of safety; he was safe here with Joe’s fingers in his hair, with Joe’s voice murmuring comforting words because Joe had seen the worst in him and he wouldn’t see the pity and the disappointment in Joe’s eyes because Joe knew what it felt like to be helpless and to be stuck in places that he rather not visit anymore.)

“Lost your head in the ocean again?”

He looked up to be greeted by Joe standing in front of him, hands casually in his pockets.

“You’re back early,” he replied, squinting his eyes to look at Joe.

Joe sat next to him, sighing deeply when he leaned his back on the bark of the tree.

“Long day?”

Joe only hummed his answer and they lapsed in silence. Web continued writing his thoughts only this time he was a bit distracted by the man sitting close beside him.

“Your mom called,” Joe said and he stopped writing, gripping the pen a bit too forcefully, the ink blotched up the page.

Joe nudged his thigh with his finger.

“She’s worried about you.” Joe continued when he didn’t reply, didn’t even look at Joe.

“Why didn’t you tell her that you’re gonna come to visit? Ma said she sounded frantic over the phone.”

Joe leaned forward to look at his face and he narrowed his eyes when Joe poked his cheek.

“You’re not turning into a stone, are you? Hello? Web? Can you hear me?”

Joe continued poking Web’s face and he tried to dodge away only for Joe’s finger to jab into his eye.

“Ow!”

Joe laughed as he said sorry and cupping his face to examine the damage. He swatted the hands away only for Joe to grip his chin firmly.

“Lemme see your eyes,” Joe murmured and he opened his eyes to look at Joe looking at him.

Joe thumbed his jaw tenderly, his brown eyes taking every inch of his face. “Jesus, Web. What happened to you? I barely recognized you anymore. Where did all the sparks have gone to?”

He closed his eyes until he felt Joe gripping his face a bit too forcefully and he opened them again to see Joe’s face clouded with annoyance.

“Don’t. Don’t hide from me. Tell me what the fuck happened to you.”

He sighed and licked his lips. How was he supposed to word his thoughts without Joe smacking his face?

“Do you ever regret doing all the things that we did back then?” He started, his eyes looking past the green field, remembering the sunny day at the mountaintop in Austria.

Joe huffed a breath loudly. “It’s our duty, Web. We were soldiers. Our duty was to follow orders.”

“Even killing that German officer?”

Joe sighed heavily, licking his lips before he answered. “Is that why you come here? To ask me this so I’d feel guilty?”

“No! That wasn’t it! I just…” Web brushed his face and swallowed his frustration. “I came back to New York and I buried everything away, Joe. I don’t want to remember anymore. I buried the journal and our photos underneath my mother’s rose bushes because I thought it would help me forget and it did for several months but then…” Web continued his train of thoughts, telling Joe about the incident that happened during the garden party, how wretched he felt when he remembered feeling helpless for not being able to stop, to protect Joe.

“I don’t need protection, Web. What I did back there… What I did back there was justified. He was a Nazi and he killed my people, Web. All those innocent people trapped and left to rot and die.”

“I know! It was justified but that didn’t make me feel less shitty when I remember it.”

“You’re so wishy-washy,” Joe said to him, his voice low with concealed annoyance.

Web leaned back and knock his shoulder against Joe’s. “I know that too. Maybe that’s why I came here to see if you still feel the same way about it.”

“I’d killed him a thousand times if I got the chance again.”

“I know you will and I’ll probably let you even though I will bitch about it after,” Web replied, feeling Joe’s calloused fingers tracing his palm gently.

Joe twisted his lips into something less mean, and asked, “How fucked up are we, Web?”

“Very.”

*

That night, when they climbed the stairs after they had said goodnight to his Ma, he pulled Web by his wrist into his bedroom and kissed him hard against the closed door.

Web moaned softly when he pressed his lanky body against Web’s bulkier frame.

He missed Web.

He missed Web since they parted ways 4 months ago. He missed Web when he was out driving his cab. He missed Web when he drove past the ocean.

He missed Web even when Web was in goddamn home.

And he didn’t know how to word his feeling for Web to know that he was being missed.

So he kissed Web instead, pouring all the yearning, all the longing feeling into the kiss. Cupping Web’s face gently, fanning his fingers against Web’s jaw as he slowly slid their mouths against one another; his other hand unzipping Web’s pants.

His mind registering the familiar feeling when his cheek grazed Web’s stubble and it whispered ‘Good’ because Web was familiar; Web was his.

“Fuck!” Web hissed when he wrapped his fingers around Web’s already hard dick.

They were both panting hard, breathless and flushed face; their lips shiny with spits and kiss-swollen.

And Web looked so beautiful like this because his blue eyes were so bright that they were almost translucent.

Like this, with his fingers around Web’s dick, he could afford to be honest. Like this, with Web panting harshly against his cheek as he stroke Web slowly, he whispered, “I miss you.”

And Web pulled him closer to kiss him again, soft and tender before he let go in favor to kneel down in front of Web, grinning widely; licking his lips before he took Web into his mouth.

Later, when they were both sated and sweaty in his bed; Web would trace his slick stomach and pulled him closer.

“Wanna know the other reason why I decide to come here?” Web murmured and he opened his eyes and blinked slowly because he was already feeling sleepy but Web was looking at him with his blue eyes and they were bright again.

“Hmm?”

“Because no one back home understand. They look at me like I am just a killing machine, a _monster_ when they asked me how many people had died by my hands,” Web started and he rested his palm on Web’s chest, feeling his steady heartbeat. “I come here because I know you’ll understand and you will not think less of me.” Web continued and he traced Web’s jaw and tenderly rubbed the stress there.

“And because I tried to forget about you, but I couldn’t. Despite all the ugly things we had done back there, the only good thing that came out from it was us meeting,” Web breathed out; hand cupping the back of his head, pulling him closer.

“I missed you too,” Web said finally and he leaned to kiss Web tenderly.

*

They started spending the nights together in Joe’s room.

Joe said it was easier this way because if he had a nightmare then Joe could just rolled over and hugged him.

(Turned out, Joe had nightmares too but he was always too deep in slumber to notice Joe’s muffled crying. But now that they shared the same bed, more often than not, he would wake up with Joe gasping for air, sobbing in his dream that he had to shake Joe to wake him up.

They always ended holding on to one another, murmuring soft, comforting words until they both fell asleep like that.)

He felt a bit queasy to be sleeping (and doing other things than sleeping) in the same bed with Joe whenever he looked at Edith.

But she didn’t seem to notice.

Or maybe she did notice because one morning (9 days since Web arrived at Joe’s home) she gave them a once over when they went down to the kitchen together and said to Joe, “Next time, try leaving the hickeys some place that no one else could see.”

And he felt his face burning with heat when his palm automatically went up to his neck and Joe huffed out a laugh when Edith muttered in German about damn raging hormones.

Life went on with ease in Frisco.

He still wrote letters for his mother.

Sometime even calling her up to hear her voice. At first she begged him to come back to New York because “You don’t want to upset your father, Kenyon”. But after several times of hanging up on her, she didn’t bring the matter up anymore.

He was happy here, bordering on content because Joe was here. He still had nightmares; they both did. But it’s bearable because they had each other.

Truthfully he never thought that after the war he would find peace.

But he did –

– When he spent his mornings with Edith, helping her with the chores and errands; Edith introducing him as ‘ _David, my son_.’

– When he spent the afternoons wandering around aimlessly, usually ended up at the pier sometimes he was alone, sometimes Joe was with him; breathing in the salty sea mist and basking in the sun.

– When he spent the nights pressed up against Joe; trading soft kisses as his fingers were lost in Joe’s soft hair; telling each other through their kisses, their touches that they were loved.

His heart beating calmly; his mind at ease.

*

“What do you think of Vegas?”

He asked Web one day over coffee and toast because his Ma was not at home, she had to go to the temple early to oversee something.

“Never been there.” Web answered at the bitter taste of the coffee and looked up from the newspapers to look at him. “Why?”

“Wanna go there? Get out from Frisco for a bit, traveling together,” he said, trying to convince Web who looked at him with bright eyes.

“Ma will be busy with that event at the temple. She probably would bring her friends around too. We should get out of her hair,” he continued, biting the inside of his cheek when Web tilted his head to the right, weighing the pros and cons.

“Will you let me drive if you’re tired?”

He grinned at Web and ruffled his hair, “We’ll see.”

On Friday, they set out from Frisco at 7 in the morning when the fog was still thick and the road was damp from last night rain.

They spent the first hour of the drive in silence; too early to talk without proper breakfast since his Ma was again busy at the temple; but she did gave them a thermos of hot coffee.

Web rested his forehead against the window, tracing the droplet of water with his finger as he drove them in silence.

Thinking back, Web looked different from the first time he saw Web sitting in his kitchen two weeks ago. That Web looked so listless, his eyes were dull. But this Web, who turned around to fiddle with the radio and settled closely to him, arm brushing his; this Web looked like the David Webster he knew from Toccoa, easy smile and bright, keen eyes with something like love lurking in them.

“Hey, Lieb.”

He gripped the steering wheel tight because he hadn’t heard Web called him Lieb in over 4 months and something about hearing it in this small space made his heart jumped.

“Lieb.”

He glanced at Web and what he saw made him gripped the steering wheel tighter because Web was smiling softly at him, looking sleepy and rumpled and his head was resting against the window and his eyes were so blue that he had to focus back on the road because he didn’t want them to end up in a ditch just because he was distracted by Web’s eyes.

“ _Lieb_.”

“What?!” he barked out.

“You’re so easy, _Liebchen_ ,” Web teased in German and his hand moved fast to pinch Web’s thigh hard and the loud yelp made the most satisfying sound to his ears.

(Back when they still had an excuse to fight the Krauts, when him and Web were still finding the right footing in their relationship that time; sometimes Web would call him Liebling or Liebchen in front of the other guys.

Web got a kick out of it because no one seemed to understand the meaning of the word. It always made the tip of his ears burned red but he never stopped Web from doing so.

Until one day, Web casually called him Liebling while passing something and Luz had turned around to watch them and started grinning all gleaming teeth that he told Web to stop being a sap in front of others.)

After that, they drove in silence again with only the radio crooning songs for them.

“There’s a diner up ahead. I’m hungry and my legs need stretching,” he told Web and the only answer he got was Web yawning.

“Jesus, Web. I didn’t know you’d get so sleepy on a long drive,” he said, eyes focusing on the empty road.

“It’s the motion, it lulls me to sleep – plus your cab smells nice; it’s warm and there’s you beside me – so I feel safe,” Web explained, his voice husky with sleep that it made his chest warmed with love for the man.

“Go sleep. I’ll wake you up when we stop.”

*

They stopped somewhere where there was only a small diner next to a dingy looking motel with a big signage that advertised **ROOMS AND HOT FOOD AVAILABLE**.

The drive was boring to say at the least because it was miles and miles of rocky mountains and desert.

Joe kept pressing down on the gas pedal, anxious to get to Las Vegas faster. If it weren’t for the grumbling in their stomachs, Joe probably would have drive the remaining hours to get to Vegas as soon as possible.

“How many hours more before Vegas?” He asked Joe when the waitress poured piping hot coffee into their cups.

“Probably two,” Joe answered, sipping the coffee and sighing deeply; cracking his neck.

“Will you let me drive already?” He whined because he was bored with staring outside and watched the scenery changed from forest green to rocky mountain and endless desert.

Instead of answering, Joe shoved a forkful of pancakes into his mouth, making his cheeks bulging comically.

“Stop that!” He laughed harder when Joe shook his head, because he looked like that fish he saw in the magazine, a puffer fish.

“What do you wanna do if you win some money?” Joe asked after he chewed and swallowed his food.

He mulled over the question.

“I don’t know, buy a boat maybe,” he answered as he lighted up a cigarette and inhaled it slowly.

“A boat huh? I don’t think New York City would allow you to dock a boat in the middle of the city.”

“Won’t be staying at New York after I graduated anyway,” he mumbled around his cigarette and Joe cocked an eyebrow in question.

He sighed because it was too early to discuss about… this with Joe because he still had about two semesters left at Harvard and he deferred a semester just to come down to Frisco to spend time with Joe.

“What is it?” Joe asked and he both hated and loved it that Joe could read him like an open book just by looking at him.

“I’m thinking of moving down to California after I graduate.” He answered and he looked at Joe looking at him with his brown eyes; sharp, knowing eyes, like a shark.

“Moving to California so you could be close to me?” Joe asked and he was smiling teasingly and he worried his lower lip with his teeth because truthfully that was the main reason.

“Yeah, one of the reasons,” he said softly, looking around the small diner instead of at Joe.

“Well, Ma already likes you and if I win enough money then maybe we can relocate to Cali, get my own space for my barber shop there. You can dock your boat. It’s a good plan.”

He gaped at Joe who was calmly sipping his coffee because he wasn’t expecting this to be honest. When he came down to Frisco to visit Joe, he wasn’t even expecting Joe to welcome him into his home, but Joe did and Edith even ended up liking him and now –

– Joe tugged his hand and clasped it firmly in his and if the waitress saw the way Joe gently ran his fingers on his knuckles, then she wisely didn’t say anything.

“You look like you’re about to go into panic mode there, buddy,” Joe said and he released a shaky breath.

“I just… I wasn’t expecting you to come along with me to Cali,” he explained to Joe.

Joe gripped his hand firmer and tugged it forward, knocking down the fork from the plate. “I let you go once, I’m not about to do it again, Web.”

*

They drove again towards Las Vegas, only this time just a bit slower because Web was being a distraction again; pressing up against his side to nuzzle his neck, pressing dry kisses on the scar and his jaw; nipping his collar bones.

He had half a mind to pull over by the highway so they could go at it in the cab – traffic be damned – but he really wanted to get to Vegas before night came because his back was already killing him and he reasoned that there would be a perfectly good bed for him to gently fuck Web into the mattress.

They did make it to Vegas just after 5 in the afternoon, the sun was already balmy and the skies turning dark blue and the lights from the casinos and hotels were already being lighted up.

He pulled up the cab in front of the brightly lit Pioneer Club; the traffic was congested and people were already milling around in their finest suits and dresses, ready to blow their money on any tables available.

He pressed a kiss on Web’s red mouth for good luck, and Web, the bastard, sucked his tongue a bit too hard that he really, really wanted to push Web down and fuck him there in his cab with anyone walking by peering inside.

But he got his money ready, and he pushed Web out from his cab.

*

8 grand.

They won 4 grand each from playing Roulette and Blackjack and Joe very nearly got thrown out from the casino when one of the guys at his table was furious that his money was taken away and started to pull a punch, but Joe was quicker, he blocked the fist and punched the guy right in between his eyes that blood splattered from his nose to all over the guy’s suit jacket.

He had to pull Joe off the guy when he heard someone screamed for police.

They cashed in the chips in hurry, with Joe’s knuckles looking angry and red, but he was smirking, eyes dark with lust when Web looked at him; body thrummed with adrenaline.

Joe tugged him by his wrist, running towards his cab and drove out from Downtown Las Vegas to someplace less bright. In the cab, Joe had one hand around his wrist, the other gripping the wheel; he moved his legs like he was impatient of something to happen.

When they arrived at a small motel just the outskirt of Las Vegas, Joe pulled him into the the small room, ignoring the way the woman at the counter giving them the stink eyes after Joe barked at her to “Hurry the fuck up with the key, _Jesus_.”

Once inside, Joe pushed him on the soft, lumpy bed; straddling his hips as he leaned up to kiss Joe’s lips, teeth sinking into those succulent lips that had been smirking at him whenever he won another chips.

Joe tasted like smoke and alcohol and his body sunk against his own seamlessly like they were made to fit one another.

It was a dizzy combination and he wanted more.

More of Joe’s kisses peppering his face, his chest, his back, his cock; more of Joe’s breathy voice moaning his name, more of Joe’s fingers sinking into his flesh when he thrust too hard and too fast that the Bible on the night desk toppled down in a heavy thud but they didn’t notice that because they were too busy worshiping one another in the most sinful, delicious way possible.

He wanted more of Joseph Liebgott for as long as he could, maybe even forever.

After, when he groaned and rolled over from Joe’s sweaty body, both of them catching their breaths for a moment; Joe lazily crawled down to dig out the pack of cigarette from his jacket. He lighted one up, inhaling with deep satisfied sighing and rolled back to pulled him by his waist.

He looked at Joe’s flushed face, the way the smoke curling out from his nostrils before Joe pushed the cigarette in between his lips; an odd sensation surging up and he couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out from his mouth.

“I love you.”

Joe smiled, licking his teeth with his tongue before he snubbed out the cigarette to press him down on the mattress; kissing his lips tenderly as Joe cradled his face with such care.

“I love you, too.”

*

When they woke up, the sun was shining brightly from between the flimsy curtains. His body was achy as he stretched and heard his back pop.

He blinked his eyes slowly, turned to his left to see Web already awake, watching him. He pulled Web closer, dropped a kiss on his forehead and rested his palm over Web’s chest; feeling their hearts beating in synchronized rhythms.

“Web?”

“Hmm?”

“After you’re done with school, when you are in Cali, where do you want to live?” He asked, nuzzling Web’s cheek tenderly.

Web didn’t answer because he was too busy gaping at him; it’s adorable really.

So he continued talking. “Maybe I’ll buy an apartment in the city overlooking the ocean, near the port so you can dock your boat there. I can rent a space for my barber business. You can work at the newspapers company or publish your book.”

He pressed his body closer to Web, nipping his lower lip.

“Or maybe we should buy a house somewhere in Santa Monica, the ocean as our backyard. You can swim in everyday and you can teach me how to fish.”

Web breathed hitched when he brushed his morning erection on Web’s thigh.

“What do you say, Web? An apartment overlooking the ocean or a house by the sea?”

Web moved to press and kiss him firmly; coaxing out deep moan from his chest and when they pulled apart, Web looked at him with eyes so bright, so blue that his chest fluttered madly against his ribcage.

“Anywhere is okay as long as we are together, Lieb.”

He grinned and pulled Web down to him.

It took David Webster 4 months to make his way back to Joseph Liebgott. It was a tedious journey, but in the end here they were, in each other’s arms, feeling content, at peace, in love.

**Author's Note:**

> first posted on [webgottrash](http://webgottrash.tumblr.com/post/144949343932/maybe-they-went-on-a-trip-and-things-dont-go-how)


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